The high pitch rumble of his voice still sends chills down my spine.
I remember his scent, like it was ingrained into my soul,
Copenhagen long cut and bud light.
He called me his “good little girl”,
Before he stole my innocence forever.
The sick salty flavor of his flesh,
The warmth of my own ***** dripping down my five year old chin,
And the harsh sting searing across my temple from his fist,
Three shames I will never forget.
Three shames I must forgive myself for.